


So, About That Summer

by LittleSammy



Category: NCIS
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-22
Updated: 2012-04-22
Packaged: 2017-11-04 02:23:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/388646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleSammy/pseuds/LittleSammy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ziva can't talk to her father, but she can talk to Malachi.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So, About That Summer

**Author's Note:**

> Missing scene for "Enemies Domestic" -- happening right before the last one and explaining what led up to it. Much like the episode itself, though, there are some things merely hinted at and not much explained. It's Tony/Ziva if you squint but the scene itself is mostly gen.

The black coat with its collar popped up looked strangely familiar, and for a moment Ziva thought that she had followed the wrong man into the men's room after all. But his shoulders weren't as wide and his hair wasn't as straight, and so he was the one she had been looking for after all, not the one she usually talked to in here.

Malachi barely shot her a glance over his shoulder before he turned his attention back to business, and while Ziva crossed her arms, waiting for a more distinct reaction from him, he finished up wordlessly and went over to the sink to wash his hands.

"I see you haven't changed your habits," he commented eventually when Ziva didn't say anything. 

His voice was as calm and as unemotional as his eyes, but she knew that he was watching her in the mirror, judging her reaction. And she couldn't help but react. Because his words brought up the habits they'd had around each other, and it reminded her how things had used to be while she'd been his partner and how not all of it had been bad.

She watched him reach for the paper towels and wipe his hands, slowly, and because she knew him a little she also knew that he was less calm than he appeared to be. And that brought back other memories, and those were the ones that made her nervous after all.

She felt edgy, and without noticing it she began rubbing her thumb against her index finger, all the time staring at his back to avoid his eyes in the mirror. She could see the tension rising in him because this was a new game for them, one with yet undecided rules. But he kept his silence, not asking why she was here, and she hadn't expected him to. It wasn't Malachi's way.

"Is she a good replacement for me?"

She heard the words tumble from her lips before she could censor them, and that wasn't really what she had wanted to ask him, but it was part of it and for now it would have to do.

His expression in the mirror shifted just the tiniest bit, and if Ziva hadn't known him she probably wouldn't have noticed it. She raised her eyes to get a good look at his face but by then he already had himself back under control.

"She is... adequate," he replied carefully.

And that made Ziva snort, not impressed. "Adequate does not keep my father alive," she said.

At the clear disdain in her voice Malachi's eyebrow went up in curiosity. 

"Do you actually care about that?" His voice was still calm, but now there was a slight edge to it, and it was almost a reflex to get angry about the insinuation that she didn't. But when Ziva opened her mouth to reply, she found herself hesitating after all.

"That... is a very good question."

Malachi, following his own urge to feel annoyed now, suddenly balled up the paper towels and threw them into the waste bin with more force than necessary. 

"What is it you want from me, Ziva?" he said, his shoulders tense, his hands flexing while he tried to keep himself from balling them into fists. "When you have made it clear that you want nothing more to do with us?"

And that was another question Ziva didn't have a good answer to, so she kept watching his back because he still refused to turn and look at her directly.

"Anything," she said eventually, and it shocked her to hear her own voice so small and hesitant. "Anything would be a start."

And for some reason, that didn't seem to be what Malachi had wanted to hear.

"We tried, remember?" he hissed, and Ziva jumped when he slapped the edge of the sink with his palm hard. She watched him lower his head and breathe deeply while he tried to get himself back under control. A muscle in his cheek twitched, and she couldn't remember ever seeing him so openly angry before. "We tried to get you back," he said, tense and furious. "And you refused."

Ziva's eyes widened when she realized what he was talking about. "Because here was not the place I needed rescuing from," she pressed out through her teeth, and her throat was suddenly tight because there it was, the real issue between them, finally. And she had taken a few steps towards him, but she was still talking mostly to his back, and for some reason this -- all of this -- didn't feel very satisfactory and not right at all.

She took another step. Something flickered across Malachi's face, and for a second she almost expected a physical attack. His eyes met hers after all, and that sent another shock through her because he just wasn't a man of emotion, really, he never had been. And yet, this time he was, and she saw so many conflicting ones before he sighed and his head fell forward again while he leaned against the edge of the sink.

"Liat has big shoes to fill," he offered suddenly, quietly. "And she is too aware of that. It is something that holds her back."

Ziva found herself nodding slowly while she crossed the last of the distance between them until she stood by his side, her shoulder almost brushing his. Her skin crawled from the emotions running through her, and part of her wanted to run and slam the tiny, tiny door of understanding shut between them. But this was what she had come for, and so she couldn't run from it very well.

"But she shows promise?" she asked because for some reason she needed more.

"She shows promise," Malachi agreed slowly. "She will get over her issues eventually. And then she'll do fine."

It felt strange to keep this conversation confined to the mirror, and Ziva blinked, staring at her own pale face while avoiding Malachi's eyes again. She wondered how she felt about this but she couldn't quite figure it out yet. Like with all things that hurt, the biggest part of her seemed to be numb from the impact, and she suspected the pain would only come much later.

And then Malachi turned his head to look at her directly for the first time. "You should talk to your father about this, not me."

His words were calm again and oh so reasonable, and he was most likely right. Still, Ziva couldn't help the shudder the suggestion sent through her.

"He does not care to talk," she whispered, and she hated herself for sounding so weak and fragile all of a sudden, but she couldn't seem to help it.

Malachi's eyes narrowed, and she felt his stare on her heavily but she couldn't bring herself to return his gaze. Not while he was still looking at her with more emotion that he had ever shown her before.

"When I returned from Somalia without you," he suddenly said, and her head whipped around, "I was not in the hospital for my broken clavicle alone."

Ziva's eyes widened, and she knew what he meant, she just knew it, even though she didn't want to. 

"What?" she heard herself ask, quietly, shocked, her pulse suddenly a loud pounding in her temples.

He avoided her eyes, looking uncomfortable, and she knew him well enough to see that he hadn't planned this and that he wasn't happy with what he had just let slip. But for some reason he forced himself to continue.

"He lost control," he pressed out reluctantly. "Badly."

Ziva blinked and stared at him, her eyes wide and unbelieving as if he had dressed in pink. She understood what he had said, and hearing the words should have made the concept more real, more tangible, but it didn't. It still felt like something heard through a thick layer of cotton. A second hand emotion.

And then Malachi gave her a quick smile, and even though it was barely more than a small twist of his mouth, gone as fast as it had come, it felt genuine.

"Whatever you think of us, Ziva -- you have been missed. And you have been mourned," he said, and she stared at his hand, suddenly resting on her arm. His fingers pressed down on her flesh once, just a tiny gesture like his smile had been, but much more than he had ever shown her before. "You still are."

She blinked hard, sudden tension knotting her shoulders. The lump in her throat threatened to choke her, and she wanted to say something and found that she couldn't. And in the end she lacked the words, and so she merely raised her hand and put it over his, touching him briefly for the first time in a very long while.

"I don't know what to think anymore," she admitted. And for the tiniest moment she imagined that he actually leaned a little closer towards her.

She felt caught when the door flew open just then, and she flinched hard, feeling vaguely guilty. She turned around, an apology for being in the men's room already on her lips, and the sensation of doing something forbidden intensified when she, quite unexpectedly, met Tony's eyes.

His step faltered for the fraction of a heartbeat, too, then he covered the hesitation and continued towards the urinals. 

"I didn't know we had an appointment," he said, raising an eyebrow into her direction, and Ziva laughed shakily while Malachi stepped away from her and left without another word. Obviously he wasn't too sad about having the opportunity to run from this, whatever it was.

And Ziva knew that this was her own cue to leave now, that it was prudent and that it was expected of her. But she needed just a minute more, just a moment to get her control back, to get back to business. And because it was Tony, it didn't even feel weird to have him just a few feet away with his zipper down and busy with relieving himself.

The sink was cold against her skin, and she felt an unexpected shudder run through her.

"You okay?" he said, quietly, and she knew that he would be looking at her now, curiosity written all over his face.

She wanted to answer him. It was a simple enough question, after all. And yet, she had no answer to it.

"Yes," she said regardless. "I think."

His eyes were heavy on her, and he knew her, so of course he knew that she wasn't okay. Because he was her partner and he had her back. He had always had her back.

She tried to leave but her hands were cold from the sink and she shivered again and she couldn't go out there again, not yet. And even when she forced her body into motion, her feet didn't take her out of the men's room. Because Tony was still here, at the right time, asking the right question, having the right look in his eyes. Having her back.

He jumped slightly when she came up to him and pressed into him, resting her face between his shoulder blades. Her hands came up to grasp his jacket, clinging to him, crushing the fabric between her fingers.

She could feel the slight tension in his body at the sudden unfamiliar closeness but she didn't let go, she just took a slow, shaky breath. His warm scent filled her nose and grounded her and brought her back to the place she called home now. And it reminded her why things were the way they were and why that way was good.

"Uhm," he said, and she could feel him trying to turn his head and look at her over his shoulder. "You do realize this is getting weird, yes?"

"Yes," she replied and bit her lip and pressed her face harder into his back. Fighting against the temptation to wrap her arms around him.

"Okay," he sighed. Then he relaxed again, ever so slightly. "Just thought I'd mention it."

And he certainly didn't know, but that was one of the reasons she loved him.


End file.
